Hello,
This is Zia.
When grief pulls you under,
This practice helps you discover the surprising safety in its depths,
So you can rise when you're ready.
You can start by bringing your knees towards your chest,
If you can,
Or simply cross your arms over your belly.
Let your body curl gently inward,
Like a shell settling into sand.
Breathe into this shape,
Noticing where it feels tender,
Where it feels safe.
Now,
Slowly unfold,
Arms releasing,
Legs lengthening,
At exactly the pace that feels right for you.
As if your body is whispering,
I can contract,
And I can expand.
Place one hand on your heart,
The other on your belly.
Imagine your touch is the warm,
Dark ocean floor.
No need to push toward the surface.
Just rest here.
Grief might say you're alone.
Your hands reply,
No,
I am held.
Picture yourself sinking deeper,
Not fighting the pull,
But letting it carry you.
The pressure isn't crushing,
It's cradling.
Until you reach the bottom,
Soft and still.
Here,
Solitude becomes a sanctuary.
And when you're ready,
A gentle kick off the ocean floor,
And you begin to rise.
Not frantic,
But fluid.
Breaking the surface into sunlight.
Drenched,
But not drowned.
Your nervous system is learning.
The depth is not the danger.
Each time you curl and release,
Each breath in the dark,
You're rewriting the fear that said,
I will drown in my grief.
Let your hands rest now,
But keep this ocean rhythm.
Grief may pull you under again,
And you'll remember,
Even the deepest waters know how to hold you.
